Missing
by Grand Puba of All The Smurfs
Summary: Companion story to Closure. Don waits up for his brother, but he never comes.


A\N-This is…not a prequel, exactly. Or a continuance. Just a companion story to Closure, through Don's point of view.

Don sat on his couch, eyes glued to the clock. His foot tapped rapidly on the floor, the only thing breaking the thick silence was the small creaks.

He briefly took his eyes from the time to glance at the door. It remained still. The doorknob did not turn or stir. There was no rattle of keys or thump of sneakers from the outside.

All.

Was.

Silent.

And Don hated it.

His father had gone to bed many an hour ago, leaving Don to ponder the single question he had asked so many times that day.

Where's Charlie?

Last night, his brother had been getting ready to leave when Don had walked through the door.

"Where you off to?" He had asked, tossing his jacket on the couch.

"Places." Charlie had answered, all the while shoving books into his bag.

"What kind of places?" Don threw himself on the armchair and watched Charlie close the bag and toss it over his shoulder.

"Why does it matter?" Charlie had snapped, and for an instant, their eyes met. That instant had come and gone, however, and Charlie made for the door.

"When'll you be back?" Don called after him, something in his stomach knotting.

"When I'm back." That was the last thing Charlie through over his shoulder before the young man slammed the door behind him. A few minutes later, a car could be heard backing from the driveway, coasting off into the night. Don thought not of it, going back to bed and ignoring the warnings his gut announced.

When he awoke, he pummeled down the stairs to find his father pacing in the kitchen.

"Morning." He had greeted, walking to the refrigerator for some juice. Alan Eppes grunted.

"Have you seen Charlie?" He asked. Don shook his head.

"Not since last night. Didn't he come home?"

"No. He has morning classes, but I always drive him." Alan rarely worried, but when he was, it showed. It made the whole room worried with him.

"Maybe he caught a ride," Don paused, "He did go out last night, said he'd be back when he'd be back…maybe he just never came home."

Alan nodded. "Maybe." He mumbled, stopping to grab his keys. "You need a ride?"

"You never give me a ride."

"I'm not used to driving by myself."

Don laughed, but shook his head, extracting his own keys from his pocket.

"Later, Dad." Though he hid it well, Don, as he departed, could see his father's worry lines. Where was Charlie?

--

That brought him to that very night. After calling Charlie some fifty-odd times--a new case required his math genius--he took the rest of the day off to go scouring for him. CalSci, Larry's apartment, Amita's, even the bookstore. Nobody had seen him in days, not even his best friend.

So Don just went home and collapsed on the couch, closing his eyes for a moment--just a moment, to gather his racing thoughts. Where could his baby brother be?

Alan came home, asked the same questions he had that morning--where's Charlie, have you seen him?--and went up to bed, too tired to go into it any more than that.

Don went back to staring at the clock, it's ticking screwing nails into his head.

_Tick._

When'll you be back?

_Tock._

When I'm back.

_Tick._

Irritability was in his voice, Don realized.

_Tock._

A hint of sadness?

_Tock._

Perhaps a cry for help.

_Tick._

A cry for his brother.

_Tock._

Where.

_Tick._

Are.

_Tock._

You.

_Tick._

Charlie?

Don was fading into the peaceful abyss that was sleep, the tick-tocks of the clock his lullaby.

His phone rang.

_Ring._

Are you hurt?

_Ring._

Do you need help?

_Ring._

Where are you?

_Ring._

"Hello?" Don answered groggily, sitting up.

"Don?" It was David, his voice heavy and grim.

"What is it, Sinclair?" Don snapped irritably. On the other end, David paused.

"Don…when was the last time you saw your brother?"

"Charlie? Last night, why?" A bell set off in Don's head--call it brother's intuition--and his attention grew.

"Don…there's been a…an accident." It was the sort of tone David spoke in that told Don it wasn't an accident at all.

"What happened?"

--

Don Eppes rarely cries. He's gotten angry, frustrated, self-accusatory, grievous, even depressed. But he's never expressed any of it in tears. Until this moment.

David hadn't told him anything except an address. It was downtown, a good twenty miles. But when he said it concerned Charlie, Don didn't hesitate to break the speed limit by ten miles in order to get there.

Megan met him at the sidewalk, a single streetlight illuminating her face. Were those tears?

"Don." She forced a smile; it was a sad, break-it-to-him-easy smile. Don caught wind of this, and got out of the car without even taking out the keys.

"Where's Charlie?" He barked, facing Megan. She looked down, letting her hair cascade around her face; to cover the tears spilling down her cheeks?

"Don…" Her breath hitched; holding back a sob? "Um…maybe someone else should…"

Behind her, for the first time, Don noticed the cop cars assembled at the corner, right by the space between two stores. David and Colby were leaning against the hard brick of the wall, allowing various cops and paramedics passage into the alley.

Don pushed past Megan, who had stopped talking completely and followed his stare, and barreled towards his goal; that alley.

David and Colby stopped him.

"Don!" David yelped, putting a hand on his chest to halt him.

"What's going on? Where's my brother?" He hissed, glaring at his two friends. Colby took David's hand and brought it away from the elder Eppes brother.

"He's…he's back there, but Don--" Colby never could've finished his sentence, as Don had already gone his own way.

A cluster of cops and CSIs had assembled themselves around something in the very corner of the alley.

Don pushed past them all. It was all he could do not to scream.

His baby brother lay in a sitting position against the brick wall, head limp to the side, bag sprawled beside him. Had it not been for the blood leaking from his mouth and abdomen, he would've looked like he did when he came home from a late class; collapsed against the door, too tired to trek up the stairs.

Blood was splattered everywhere; his jeans, his jacket, his T-shirt, even a pen and paper thrown at his sneakers.

Don knew a dead body when he saw it. But he didn't see it. All he saw was his brother. Charlie, Charles, Chuck, whatever you pleased, lying in a pool of blood.

He was dead. Stabbed. Dead. Stabbed dead. Nothing more than a body. No laughter. No numbers. No soul.

He was dead.

So that was when, for the first time in over twenty years, Don fell to his knees and cried.

A\N-Maybe I'll do a few more of these, where Larry and Amita find out. But for now, be happy with this. Good day to you.

PS Cheat code of the week--on true or false questions, always answer false. Why? Cause the test was written by The Man, and The Man never tells the truth.

Thought that'd lighten the mood a bit.


End file.
